


In the Beginning

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Series: Sacra Familiae [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24844570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: Phil met Chris on a sun-drenched Saturday afternoon.
Relationships: Philip Boyce/Christopher Pike
Series: Sacra Familiae [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797217
Comments: 15
Kudos: 89





	In the Beginning

******************************

Phil met Chris on a sun-drenched Saturday afternoon. He was contemplating an unopened beer in one hand and a can of cider in the other when a voice by his ear made him jump.

“I brought you a present. Never let it be said I’m not an awesome godfather.”

Phil frowned, but recognized the teasing tone for what it was. Setting the cider back in the cooler he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“On your three-o’clock— contemplating the appetizers. You can thank me later.” The old man melted back into the crowd of well-wishers with surprising nimbleness.

Phil went exclusively by his father’s last name at the academy. His mother’s maiden name seemed to instill a fear in his instructors that he was liable to blow something up. Just his luck to have been born into a family of Reed-Boyces with three older siblings that tended to live up to their maternal grandfather’s reputation. He favored the Boyce side in looks, so tended to get away with it, except when social obligation drew out his parentage.

 _Three-o’clock— contemplating the appetizers_ was a lieutenant, junior grade, and command track to boot. The only other person under sixty-five that Phil had seen so far at the party. He was blond, with tousled curls just barely the right side of regulation length. 

Phil’s feet seemed to carry himself across the lawn without conscious effort. Pausing to grab an empty plate as an attempt at pretence, Phil stopped at the other man’s elbow and offered, “Try the ‘etal-palak. Admiral Warren just got back from Risa— it’s got the authentic spices in it.”

The plate was almost empty so they both quickly reached for a slice before regarding each other and offering,

“Phil.”

“Chris.”

Archer swooped in before the search for a conversation starter could get awkward. “Phil— I see you’ve met Chris. We bumped into each other this afternoon and I thought he might like to meet Genevieve and some of the more reasonable members of the admiralty. I trust you’ll make sure he finds something to drink.”

“Yeah, of course,” he could do that. “Uh, beers are over there. Cider and wine too. Non-alcoholic stuff is by the desserts.” Archer seemed to have vanished as quickly as he appeared, but Chris appeared interested in the prospect of beer so Phil led the way over to the cooler and took him through the selection.

Chris picked a beer, something Belgian, and they wandered over to a quiet part of the patio to sit side-by-side on a bench. The sun brought out the highlights in Chris’ hair and the blue in his eyes. Phil caught himself being distracted from the other man’s introductions by the curl of his lips. It was all normal fare: a couple years out of the academy, just back from a tour on the Aldrin, interested in diplomacy, sociology, and strategy. And yet— Phil’s physician radar was tingling; that and the way Archer had described inviting Chris to the party.

Carefully, Phil introduced himself in more detail, making sure he got Chris to relax before turning the conversation back to the other man. _Then_ it came out: A story about an away mission gone wrong and the opportunity to turn his back on the ‘Fleet and throw his lot in with Stanford instead.

Phil had regretted coming to the party in uniform— the result of a clinic shift that overrun. Now, though, he was glad. Pressing a finger to his ‘Fleet insignia, he said, “You understand what this is, don't you? It's important. We’re a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada.”

Chris’ eyes widened, as if the words had a visceral effect.

Phil knew all about that: about _duty_ and _compassion_ and _loss_. They’d dominated his family for generations. He’d only known the other man for half an hour, but Phil was convinced he knew what needed to be said. Reaching out, he grasped Chris’ wrist. It was an overly familiar gesture— almost unforgivably so— but Chris just glanced down, then met Phil’s gaze again and waited.

Phil took the invitation and just talked— told Chris what his grandfather said when Phil was six and his mom shipped out for a six month tour, what Archer said when he was eleven and his Uncle Dan was killed in a shuttle accident; when he was fifteen and the entire family moved off-planet to Starbase Nine, leaving behind all his friends; when he bucked the family tradition and picked medical track…

Through it all, Chris just listened. Nodding occasionally, but never breaking Phil’s gaze.

Phil finished and was surprised to find the shadows had lengthened. Not only that, but the party had started to wrap up around them. Half the people seemed to have left, and the other half largely shifted to continue inside. It occurred to Phil that if the Aldrin was only just back, it was likely undergoing maintenance. “Where are you staying?”

A hint of a grimace crossed Chris’ face as he replied, “The temp quarters downtown.”

Phil was familiar with them: Spartan was putting it kindly. Not a good place to be alone with your thoughts. “I think—” He was leaping without looking, but couldn’t help himself, “I think you should come to my place tonight.”

Chris looked surprised; possibly for more reasons than one.

“There’s a couch. You can just—” Phil swallowed, finishing lamely, “sleep. If you want.” Acutely aware he was making it worse, he tried to salvage the offer, “I mean, you don’t have to, but I know you’ve got a lot on your mind and I don’t want to overstep, but those quarters downtown are—”

“I’d like that.”

Still not entirely sure what, exactly, Chris had just agreed to, Phil asked, “Yeah?”

Chris nodded and gave a smile that was more relaxed than anything he’d offered up to that point. “Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks.”

“Come on,” Phil stacked their plates and pulled Chris to his feet, leading the way to drop off the dishes. They hadn’t really eaten enough, so he grabbed a container of leftovers that had been put up for grabs and waved goodbye to Archer.

The old man waved back and offered a wink that made Phil blush, even as he unashamedly tightened his grip on Chris and pulled him towards the driveway.

Sunday morning they walked around the city together, just talking.

Phil’s ambitions in the medical track.

Chris’ original reasons for joining Starfleet.

Academy classmates they had in common, even if their own paths hadn’t crossed.

Federation politics, ‘Fleet gossip, the latest ship designs...

They parted ways mid-afternoon.

Monday morning, Phil’s comm chimed:

 _I turned down Stanford_.  
_I’m meeting with a counselor_  
_Want to grab coffee after your shift tomorrow?_


End file.
